Betty Gordon at Mountain Camp by Alice B. Emerson

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"Cheer up!" exclaimed Mr. Gordon, beamingly. "We'll find her. I take it
upon myself to say that Betty and I will find her for you. Sha'n't we,
Betty?"

"Indeed we will. If she is singing in this country of course it will be
comparatively easy to find her."

"Do you think so?" asked Ida Bellethorne doubtfully. "I have not found it
so, and I have been searching for her for three months now. This is such a
big country! I never imagined it so big until I began to look for Aunt
Ida. It seems like looking for a needle in a haystack."

CHAPTER XVII

OFF ON SNOWSHOES

Mr. Gordon encouraged the English girl at this point in her story by
assuring her that he would, before returning to Canada, put the matter in
the hands of his lawyers and have the search for the elder Ida Bellethorne
conducted in a more businesslike way.

"How did you expect to find your aunt," he asked, "when you first landed
in New York?"

"I knew of a musical journal published there which I believed kept track
of people who sang. I went to that office. The last they knew of my aunt
she was booked to sing at a concert in Washington," Ida said sadly. "The
date was the very day I called at the office. I hurried to buy a ticket to
Washington. But the distance was so great that when my train got into
Washington the concert was over and I could do nothing more until the next
day."

"And then?" asked Uncle Dick.

"She had gone again. All the company had gone and I could find nobody who
knew anything about her. I--I didn't have much money left," confessed the
girl. "And things do cost so much here in your country. I was frightened.
I walked about to find a cheap lodging and reached that street in
Georgetown where Mrs. Staples has her shop."

"I see," commented Uncle Dick.

"So I asked Mrs. Staples. She was English too, and she offered me lodgings
and a chance to serve in her shop. I took it. What else could I do?"

"You are a plucky girl, I must say. Don't you think so. Betty?" said Uncle
Dick.

"I think she is quite wonderful!" cried his niece. "And think of her
making those blouses so beautifully! You know, Ida, Bobby bought the blue
one of Mrs. Staples."

"I am glad, if you like them," said the other girl, blushing faintly. "I
had hard work to persuade Mrs. Staples to pay for that one on the chance
of your coming back for it."

"Well," interposed Uncle Dick, "tell us the rest. You thought you heard of
your Aunt Ida up here, in the mountains?"

"Yes, Mr. Gordon," said Ida. "I read it in the paper. But the notice must
have referred to my dear little mare. I never dreamed she had been sent
over here. I never dreamed of it!"

"No?"

"Of course I didn't! And when I got to Cliffdale there was nobody who had
ever heard of my aunt. There are two hotels. One of them is closed at
this time of year. At the other there was no such guest."

"Dear me! How disappointed you must have felt," murmured Betty.

"You can't imagine! But in talking with the clerk at the hotel I got news
of my little darling."

"Meaning the mare, of course?" suggested Uncle Dick.

"Yes. She had arrived the night before and had been taken directly to
Candace Farm. The clerk told me how to get there. I did not feel that I
could afford to hire anybody to take me there. And I knew nobody. So I set
out to walk day before yesterday morning."

"Before it began to snow?" asked Betty.

"Yes, Miss Gordon."

"Oh, please," cried Betty, "call me Betty. I'm not old enough to be Miss
Gordon. To a girl, anyway," she added. "With a strange boy it would be
different."

The English girl consented, and then went on with her story.

"It was cloudy but I did not know anything about such storms as you have
here. Oh, dear me, how it snowed and blew! I got to that little house and
I could open the door. If I had had to go many yards farther I would have
fallen down and been covered by the snow."

"You poor dear!" murmured Betty, putting an arm around the other girl.

Ida gave her a tearful smile, and Betty kissed her. And then the latter
suddenly remembered again her lost locket. She gave a little jump in her
chair. But she did not speak of it.

Not for a moment did she believe Ida Bellethorne would be guilty of
stealing her trinket. Uncle Dick evidently did not think of that
possibility, either. Could Betty suggest such a matter when already Ida
was in so much trouble? At least, she would wait and see what came of it.
So she hugged Ida more closely and said:

"Go on. What else?"

"Not much else, Betty," said the English girl, wiping her eyes again and
smiling. "I just stayed there in that house until you came along and saved
me. There was nothing to burn but the furniture in the house, and I burned
it. I suppose the poor man who owns it will want to be paid. Oh, dear!"

"I wouldn't worry about that," said Mr. Gordon, cheerfully. "You seem to
have come through a good deal. I'd take it easy now. Mrs. Canary and the
girls are glad to have you here. When we go back to town we will take you
with us and see what can be done."

"Thank you, Mr. Gordon. You are very kind. I should like to know about my
little mare. She is a darling! How this Mr. Bolter came to get her----"

"Oh, Ida!" cried Betty, breaking in suddenly, "do you know a little man, a
crooked little man, named Hunchie Slattery?"

"My goodness, Betty! Of course I remember Hunchie. He worked in our
stables."

"He is with Ida Bellethorne, your pretty mare. He takes care of her. I
talked with him at Mr. Bolter's farm in Virginia. The mare has a cough,
and she was sent up here to get well. And I heard Mr. Bolter himself tell
Hunchie Slattery that he was to go with her."

"Dear me, Betty! if I could find Hunchie, too, I'd feel better. He might
be able to tell me how it came that my mare was taken away and sold. She
really did belong to me, Mr. Gordon. Mr. Jackwood, father's administrator
and my guardian, showed me the bill of sale making me Ida's owner. And
even if I was a minor, wouldn't that be a legal transfer paper?"

"I am not sure of the English law, my dear. But it seems to me it would be
in this country. At any rate, that will be another thing to consult my
lawyers about. I understand Bolter paid somewhere near twenty thousand
dollars for the mare. It would be quite a fortune for you, Ida."

"Indeed it would. And the mare is worth all of four thousand pounds, I
know. Father always said there was no better mare in all England than Ida
Bellethorne, and Aunt Ida might be proud to have such a horse named after
her."

"We are not far from the Candace Farm and perhaps we can get over there
before we leave Mountain Camp," Mr. Gordon said kindly. "Then you can see
your horse and the man from home. I will get a statement from this jockey,
or hostler, or whatever he is, and it may aid my lawyers in their search
for the facts regarding the sale of the mare to Mr. Bolter."

"Thank you very kindly, Mr. Gordon."

The conference broke up and Betty ran out to join her mates on the lake.
Ida could not skate. And, anyway, she preferred to sit indoors with Mrs.
Canary. Ida had the silk for another sweater in her bag, and that very
hour she began to knit an over-blouse for Libbie, who had expressed a
desire to possess one like those Betty and Bobby had bought.

The skating was fine, but the wind had risen again and this time it was a
warm wind. The snow grew soft on the surface, and when the party came up
the bluff for luncheon it was not easy to walk and they sank deeply into
the snow.

"This is a weather breeder," said Mr. Canary, standing on the porch to
greet them. "I fear you young folks have come to Mountain Camp at the
beginning of the roughest part of the winter."

"Don't apologize for your weather, Jack," laughed Uncle Dick. "If it grows
too boisterous or unpleasant outside, these young people must find their
fun indoors."

And this is what they did for the next two days. The temperature moderated
a good deal, and then it rained. Not a hard downpour, but a drifting
"Scotch mist" that settled the snowdrifts and finally left them saturated
with water.

Then back came the frost--sharp, snappy and robust. The air cleared like
magic. The sun shone out of a perfectly clear sky. Just to put one's head
out of the door make the blood tingle.

Meanwhile both the girls and boys had found plenty of interesting things
to do indoors, as Uncle Dick had prophesied. Especially the boys. Under
the teaching of Uncle Dick and Mr. Canary they had learned to string
snowshoes. Mr. Canary had the frames and the thongs of which the webs are
woven. Even Timothy neglected the library to engage in this fascinating
work.

Of course, the girls must have webs as well. Betty and Bobby were
particularly eager to learn to walk on snowshoes and, as Bob Henderson
said, they "pestered" the boys until sufficient pairs of webs were made to
enable the entire party to try walking on them when the time was ripe.

On the third morning, just at dawn, there was a heavy snow squall for an
hour. It left about four inches of downy snow upon the hard-packed and
slippery surface of the drifts.

"This is an ideal condition," said Mr. Gordon with enthusiasm. "My feet
itch to be off on the webs myself. After breakfast we will try them out.
Now remember the rules I have been telling you, and see how well you can
all learn to shuffle over this snow."

Thoughtful Bob had strung an extra pair of shoes for Ida. He knew that
Betty did not want the English girl left out of their good times. And all
the crowd liked Ida. Although she was in the main a very quiet girl, as
one grew to know her she proved to possess charming qualities both of mind
and heart.

Ida was not as warmly dressed for venturing into the open as the other
girls. But Mrs. Canary, one of the kindest souls in the world, mended this
defect. She furnished Ida with a fur coat and gloves that secured her from
frostbite.

The whole party turned out gaily. Having been confined to the house for
almost forty-eight hours, they were as full of life as colts. But in a few
minutes the nine of them were on snowshoes and watched and instructed by
Uncle Dick were learning their first lesson in the rather ticklish art of
scuffling over the soft snow without tripping and plunging headlong into
it.

Not that there were not many laughable accidents. The capers both boys
and girls involuntarily cut led to shouts of laughter, and sometimes to a
little pain. For the frozen crust underneath the light surface snow
offered a rather hard foundation when one fell flat.

The necessary falls incident to learning the right trick of handling one's
self on snowshoes soon cured the first enthusiasm of several of the party.
Louise, for instance, found it too strenuous for her liking. And Timothy
got a bump on the back of his head that no phrenologist could have easily
described.

The second day, however, Betty, Bobby and Ida, with Bob and Tommy Tucker,
were just as enthusiastic on the subject of snowshoeing as at first. While
the others swept off a part of the lake just below the Outlook, the
snowshoeing party set off on their first real hike through the woods; and
that hike led to an unexpected adventure.

CHAPTER XVIII

GREAT EXCITEMENT

Mr. Richard Gordon was, as Betty and Bob often declared, the very best
uncle that ever lived! One good thing about him they thought was that he
never "fussed."

"He isn't always wondering what you are going to do next and telling you
not to," explained Bob to Ida Bellethorne as the party started out from
Mountain Camp. "Not like a woman, oh, no!"

"Hush, bad boy!" cried Bobby. "What do you mean, throwing slurs at women?"

"You know even if Mrs. Canary had seen us start off she would have given
us a dozen orders before we got out of earshot. And she's a mighty nice
woman, too. Almost as nice as your mother, Bobby," finished Bob.

"Bob doesn't like chaperons," giggled Betty.

"Nor me," said Tommy Tucker, sticking close to Bobby Littell as he always
did when Roberta would let him. "Uncle Dick suits me as a chaperon every
time."

Uncle Dick had let the party troop away on their snowshoes without
advising them when to return or asking where they were going, and
presently Betty and Bob formed a sudden plan about their hike.

From one of the men working about the camp Bob had got directions
regarding the nearest way to Candace Farm. Ida longed to go there. It was
but seven miles away in a direct line, and now, when Betty spoke of going
there, Bob said that, with the aid of his compass, he knew he could find
it without difficulty.

"We didn't mention it to Uncle Dick, but he won't be bothered about it,"
said Bob. "We've got all day. We can tell him where we have been when we
get back, which will be just the same."

"Will it, Bob?" the girl asked doubtfully. "But of course there is nothing
really wrong in going."

"I--should--say--not!" exploded Bob. "I'm sure it will be all right with
Uncle Dick, Betty. Remember how he let us roam and explore in Oklahoma?"

The others in the party were not troubled by doubts in the least. They
went hurrying through the snow with shouts and laughter; and if any forest
animals were astir that day they must have been frightened by the noise
the party made scrambling along on snowshoes. Not one of them but fell at
times--and the very "twistiest" kind of falls! But nobody was hurt;
although at one point Bobby fell flat on her back at the verge of a steep
descent and there was no stopping her until she plunged into a deep drift
at the bottom.

Tommy kicked off his snowshoes and ran down to haul her out while the
others, seeing that she was unhurt, shouted their glee. Bobby was not
often in a fix that she could not get out of by her own exertions. Being
such an energetic and independent girl, she would not often accept help of
her boy friends, especially of Tommy who hovered around her like a moth
around a candle.

But when she had lost her snowshoes she found the soft snow so much deeper
than she expected at the bottom of that hill that she was glad indeed to
accept Tommy's aid. He dragged her out of the drift and set her upright.
Even then she found that she could not climb up again by herself to where
her friends were enjoying her discomfiture.

"Come on!" cried Tommy, who had kicked his own snowshoes off at the top of
the slide. "Give us your hand, Bobby. We'll make it somehow."

But they did not "make it" easily. It seemed as though they could climb
only so high and then slide back again. Under the shallow top snow the
frozen crust was like pebbled glass. Tommy could barely kick the toes of
his boots into it to make steps, and just as he had secured a footing in a
particularly slippery place, Bobby would utter a shriek and slide to the
bottom again.

Even Betty was almost ill with laughter as this occurred over and over
again. But the Tucker twin finally proved himself to be master of the
situation. He was determined to get Bobby to the top of the hill, and he
succeeded.

Tom Tucker was a strong lad. Stooping, he commanded the girl to put her
arms over his shoulders so that he could seize both wrists with one hand.
Then he bent forward, carrying Bobby on his back and her weight upon his
aided in breaking through the snow-crust and getting a footing.

He plodded up the slope, a little at a time, and after a while Betty and
Bob helped them to the level brink of the hill. Tommy fell to the snow
panting, and Bobby was inclined to scold for a minute. Then she gave Tommy
one of her rare smiles and helped him up. She was not often so kind to
him.

"You are a good child, Tommy Tucker," she proclaimed saucily, as she beat
the loose snow off his coat. "In time you may be quite nice."

Betty and Ida Bellethorne praised him too; but Bob continued to laugh and
when the party started on again the others learned why he was so amused.

The way to Candace Farm lay right down that slope to the bottom of which
Bobby had tumbled, and all the exertion Tommy had put forth to save her
was unnecessary. Bob led them along a lane right past the spot where
Tommy had pulled the girl out of the snowbank!

"That's the meanest trick that was ever played on me!" declared Bobby, in
high wrath at first. Then she began to appreciate the joke and laughed
with the others. "I was going to tell the folks at home how Tommy saved me
from the peril of being buried in the snowbank; but I guess I'd better
not," she observed. "Don't blame me, Tommy. Give it to Bob."

"Ill get square with Bob," grumbled the Tucker twin. "No fear of that."

Bobby remained kind to him however; and as Tommy frankly admired her he
was repaid for his effort. But every time Bob looked at Tom he burst out
laughing.

They had struck into a straight trough in the snow, with maples on either
side standing gaunt and strong, and a windrow of drifted snow where the
fences were supposed to be--a road which Bob said the man at Mountain Camp
had told him led straight to Candace Farm.

"Wish we had brought a sled with us," Tommy said. "We could have ridden
the girls on it. Aren't you tired, Bobby?"

"Not as tired as you are, I warrant," she said, laughing at him. "Poor
Tommy!"

"Aw, you go fish! I could carry you a mile and not feel it. Gee! What's
this coming?"

Far down the snow-covered road they first heard shouts, then a cloud of
snow-dust spurted into the air and hid whatever it was coming along the
way toward them. Bob immediately drew Betty and Ida to one side of the
road and Tommy urged Bobby to follow.

Suddenly out of the cloud of flying snow appeared a horse's head and
plunging fore feet. Then another and another! They came along the road at
a plunging, blundering pace, snorting and neighing. Behind them were men,
evidently trying to stop the runaways.

"Colts!" shouted Bob. "Yearlings. All young horses. And just about wild.
Remember that bunch we saw in Oklahoma, Betty, that was being driven to
the shipping station? They are wild as bears."

Ida Bellethorne did not seem to be much disturbed by the possibility of
the horses doing them any harm. She stood out before her companions and
stared at the coming herd eagerly. The black mare she loved so, however,
was not in this bunch of runaways.

The young stock swept past the watching party from Mountain Camp, their
pace rapid in spite of the hard going. They kept to the snow-covered road,
however. Behind them came half a dozen men, wind-spent already and not a
little angry.

"Why didn't you stop 'em?" bawled one red-faced fellow. "If they spread
out in some open pasture we'll be all day gathering them."

"Easy to stop 'em, I guess," returned Tommy. "They'd have trampled us
down."

"Could stop a snowslide easier, I guess," Bob suggested. "But I tell you:
We'll give you a hand collecting them. How did they get away?"

"Went over the paddock fence like a flock of sheep. Snow is so deep, you
know," said the red-faced man. "Come on, you boys, if you will. The girls
can go on to the house and Mrs. Candace will let 'em warm up. It's only a
little way."

The "little way" proved to be a good two miles; but the three girls did
not falter. They saw the big farmhouse and the great barns and snow-filled
paddocks a long way ahead.

"I'll be glad of that 'warm'," confessed Betty, as they turned in at the
entrance to the lane. "And maybe Mrs. Candace will give us a cup of tea."

At that moment Bobby clutched her arm and pointed up the lane. "See there!
He'll fall! Oh, look!"

Betty was as startled as her chum when she spied what Bobby had first
seen. A little, crooked man was crawling out above the hay door of the
main barn upon a timber that was here thrust out from the framework and to
which was attached a block and fall. The rope had evidently fouled in the
block and he was trying to detach it.

"That's Hunchie Slattery!" gasped Betty, "What a chance he is taking!"

For everything was sheathed in ice from the effect of the rain and frost
of the night before. That timber was as slippery as glass.

Ida Bellethorne set off on a run for the barn; but unlike Bobby she did
not say a word. Had she thought of any way to help the crooked little man,
however, she was too late. Hunchie suddenly slipped, clutched vainly at
the rope, which gave under his weight, and he came down "on the run."

The rope undoubtedly broke his fall. He would have been killed had he
plunged immediately to the frozen ground beneath.

As it was, when the three girls reached him, he was unconscious and it was
plain by the attitude in which he lay that his leg was broken.

CHAPTER XIX

THE EMERGENCY

"Poor Hunchie!" murmured Ida Bellethorne, "I hope it wasn't because he was
surprised to see me that he fell."

"His surprise did not make that timber slippery with ice," said Betty,
looking up. "Oh! Here's a lady!"

A comfortable looking woman with a shawl over her head was hurrying from
the kitchen door of the Candace farmhouse.

"What has happened to that poor man? He's been battered and kicked about
so much, it would seem, there ain't much can happen to him that he hasn't
already suffered.

"Ah! Poor fellow!" she added, stooping over the senseless Hunchie. "What a
deal of trouble some folks seem bound to have. And not another man on the
place!"

She stood up again and stared at the three girls. Her broad, florid face
was all creased with trouble now, but Betty thought she must ordinarily be
a very cheerful woman indeed.

"They've gone chasing the young stock that broke away. Dear me! what is
going to happen to this poor fellow? Bill and the rest may be gone for
hours, and there's bones broke here, that's sure."

"Where's a doctor?" asked Bobby eagerly.

"Eleven miles away, my dear, if he's an inch. Dr. Pevy is the only man for
a broken bone in these woods. Poor Hunchie!"

"Can't we get him into his bed?" asked Betty. "He'll freeze here."

"You're right," replied the woman, who afterward told them she was Mrs.
Candace. "Yes, we'll take him into the house and put him into a good bed.
Can you girls lift him?"

They could and did. And without too much effort the three transported the
injured man, who was but a light weight, across the yard, into the house,
and to a room which Mrs. Candace showed them. He began to groan and mutter
before they managed to get him on the bed.

There was an old woman who helped Mrs. Candace in the house, and the two
removed Hunchie's outer garments and made him as comfortable as possible
while the girls waited in much excitement in the sitting room.

"He saw one of you girls and knows you," said Mrs. Candace, coming out of
the bedroom. "But he talks about that mare, Ida Bellethorne."

"This is Ida Bellethorne," said Betty, pointing to the English girl.

"I declare! I thought Hunchie was out of his head. How comes you are named
after that horse, girl?"

Ida explained her connection with the black mare and with Hunchie.

"You'd better go in and talk to him. Maybe it will case his pain. But that
shin bone is sticking right through the flesh of his leg. It's awful! And
he's in terrible pain. If Bill don't come back soon----"

"Isn't there any man on the place?" asked Betty, interrupting.

"None but them with Bill hunting the young stock."

"And the boys--our friends--have gone with them," explained Betty.
"Somebody must get the surgeon."

"How are we going to do it? The telephone wires are down," explained Mrs.
Candace. "And there ain't a horse properly shod for traveling on this ice.
I fear some of that young stock will break their legs."

"We saw them skating all over the road," said Bobby. "But how gay and
excited they were!"

"A ridin' horse would have to go at a foot pace," explained Mrs. Candace,
"unless it was sharpened. I don't know----"

Ida had gone into the bedroom to speak with the injured man. She looked
out at this juncture and excitedly beckoned to Betty. Betty ran in to find
the crooked little man looking even more crooked and pitiful than ever
under the blankets. He was groaning and the perspiration stood on his
forehead. That he was in exceeding pain there could be no doubt.

"He says Ida Bellethorne is sharpened," gasped Ida.

"Oh! You mean she is fixed to travel on ice on frozen ground?"

"I 'ad to lead 'er up 'ere from the station, Miss. Ain't I saw you before,
Miss?" said Hunchie, staring at Betty. "At Mr. Bolter's?"

"Yes, yes!" cried Betty. "Can the mare travel on this hard snow?"

"Yes, ma'am. I didn't draw the calks for I exercised 'er each d'y, I did.
I didn't want 'er to fall. An' now I failed myself!"

The two girls looked at each other significantly. Ida was easily led out
of the room. Betty put the question to her.

"That's just it, Betty," said the English girl, almost in tears. "I never
learned to ride. I never did ride. My nurse was afraid to let me learn
when I was little, and although I love horses, I only know how to drive
them. It's like a sailor never having learned to swim."

Betty beat her hands together in excitement. "Never mind! Never mind!" she
cried. "I can ride. I can ride any horse. I am not afraid of your Ida
Bellethorne. And none of the boys or men is here. I'll go for the doctor."

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